


Floating

by TheShorty



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Explicit Consent, F/M, Public Play, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Rope Bondage, Suspension, kink as intimacy, six sexy words prompt, there will probably be a second chapter eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 17:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15441885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShorty/pseuds/TheShorty
Summary: Her voice, thick and heavy, murmurs around him, unintelligible nothings mixing with thunder and heartbeats, guiding him into the place where even she disappears, where there is only him enveloped in rope and nothingness and peace.Response to SixSexyWords prompt #50: "feeling his body in the dark".





	Floating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lodessa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodessa/gifts).



> This fic is in response to lodessa's Six Sexy Words prompt #50: "feeling his body in the dark". While it's not pure darkness, it is dark-ish. 
> 
> Thanks to cheile for the helpful comments! :)
> 
> I always welcome feedback and constructive discussion.

Kathryn glances at the chronometer on the wall, then turns back to the small group of friends before her. Bending at the elbow, she slides her hand up her body until it meets his at the small of her back, tangling their fingers together. Her upper body turns as she rocks onto her tiptoes; he automatically bends his head until her lips are against his ear.

“Ready to get started? We’re up in a few minutes.”

Chakotay pulls his head back until he meets her eyes, his own crinkling around the edges as his lips curl into a half-smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

A quick nod to their friends, and they move to an overstuffed chair in the corner of the designated quiet lounge. He sits and she straddles him, wrapping her arms around his neck and wiggling until she finds a comfortable position.

“Anything in particular you’re interested in tonight?” she asks softly.

Chakotay’s half-smile drops as he worries his lower lip thoughtfully. Her right hand shifts against his neck, trailing down across his shoulder and back again, tracing invisible patterns as he contemplates. The fingers of her left hand find their way into his hair, applying steady, comforting pressure, a tactile anchor for them both during their discussion.

“Sensations, no pain. I think I’ll have a hard time blocking people out, which I’m already frustrated about, so I’m not sure how far we’ll actually get.” He's tense and she's not surprised; they've both had a rough few weeks at work and he's been unable to still the swirls negative emotions in his head. To top it all off, their schedules haven’t allowed any time alone _and_ together, making it hard to unwind and reconnect. They've looked forward to this weekend since it was planned weeks ago, welcoming the change of pace provided by the privacy and relative anonymity found here. Here, their only concerns are one another; no one expects their presence or opinions unless they choose to offer them. 

She watches his eyes flit around the space, taking in the groups dotting the room in random patterns. Kathryn’s hand tightens in his hair, bringing his eyes back to her before she speaks again. “No pain. Do you want to fly or stay grounded?” She keeps a light but steady pressure against his hair, using the sensation to focus him back onto her—the first step in blocking out the people around them.

He sighs and, in an uncharacteristic move, fidgets beneath her. She tightens her fist even more and leans forward to press her cheek against his, her mouth beside his ear. “Close your eyes.” She waits until she feels eyelashes flutter against her skin. “I’m sorry you’re frustrated already. I'll do my best to get you down. For the rest of the night, there is only us. You focus on me, and I’ll take care of the rest, alright?” A minute nod against her cheek accompanies his forceful exhale, a conscious attempt to release the tension holding him hostage.

“Take a deep breath and hold it.” His solid, comforting chest presses against hers. She mentally counts, a habit instilled from years of attempting to master Vulcan meditation.

“Exhale.”

She pulls his head back a miniscule amount as his chest deflates. “One more time, Chakotay.” Her right hand finds its way to his shoulder while he holds his breath for a few seconds before exhaling. Using his shoulder to steady herself, Kathryn drags herself up his body, arranging torso and arms so that he will see only her when his eyes open. The literal placement of her body above his, raised up on her knees, is an added bonus.

“Open your eyes.”

Her grip remains steady in his hair, the inside of her forearm resting along the underside of his jaw. His sudden increase in heartrate is unmistakable against the tender flesh. Large hands rest against the outside of her thighs, firm but unimposing, and his head pulls against her grip in an attempt to bury itself in her body. After a moment of resistance, she relaxes her grip just enough to allow his head to sink against her torso. She studies the rise and fall of his back as he breathes against her.

Shivers run up Kathryn’s body as Chakotay’s breath pushes and pulls across her belly, the thin fabric of her knit shirt offering little protection against the fluctuating sensations. She returns to her unanswered question. “Do you want to try to fly tonight? It's fine if you don't.” His head weighs more heavily against her; he mumbles incoherently into her shirt.

“I’m sorry, love. I couldn’t hear you.” she notes softly, her voice like honey and her hands keeping warm pressure against his skin.

It’s a long few seconds before he lifts his face towards her, meeting her gaze with cloudy eyes. “I don’t know if I can. I’m not opposed, though.” She smiles at him as she leans down, sliding the hand from his hair.

Their soft kiss lingers as her hands covers his, still resting on her thighs; she pulls them, her movements unhurried and deliberate, to rest under her shirt. Their eyes meet as  she contemplates.

“That’s ok. We’ll see how it goes.”

Warmth engulfs her belly, from the intensity of their locked gaze as much as the spread of his hands against her skin. With an encouraging nod from her, Chakotay's hands begin to explore. His head drops again to her rest against her, eyes drifting shut as he matches his breaths to hers. Kathryn murmurs and sighs her enjoyment as he runs his hands around her torso, hips, and thighs, gradually relaxing and lengthening her—and therefore his—breaths until the tight muscles in his neck visibly loosen.

Reaching into her back pocket, she withdraws the two coils of bright azure rope tucked there, his gift to her when they first embarked upon this journey. Chakotay's groan rumbles against her when she runs the supple rope against the back of his neck and down his arm, signaling the start of their preparation ritual. “Keep your eyes closed.” she instructs, placing her free hand under his chin lightly. Hips inch down until they meet his thighs, fingers carefully guiding his head as she moves until it finds its place in the crook of her neck. The rope drops onto their combined lap, freeing both her hands. A quick nip of his earlobe distracts him as cool, nimble fingers find the hem of his shirt. An involuntary shiver ripples up his spine as they press into his warm skin. 

“I never get tired of touching you, Chakotay,” she whispers against his ear, "feeling you against my skin.” His shirt slides up his body as her hands explore ever higher on his chest. He moans, soft and low, as her fingers brush his nipples. She continues lightly against and around them, the noises floating from his throat feeding her growing arousal. “I love the noises you make.”

Two quick tugs of the fabric now bunched against his shoulder and he lifts his arms. The shirt slides off easily and gets tucked in the back waistband of her pants.

Her small hands cradle his larger ones yet again, guiding one to continue its path along her body as she presses his other hand high on her chest, against her heart. Kathryn grabs the first bundle of rope and quickly finds the center point. Her lips skim over his fingertips. Rope slides against the inside of his wrist as she slowly, painstakingly wraps it repeatedly around his wrist, running the material around his wrist, over and through his fingers, pulling it off only to repeat the action over and over again, allowing him to center on the sensation of rope against his bare skin. Eventually, she wraps and secures a single column tie with deftness perfected through thousands of hours of practice. (It was the first human bondage tie she learned, and her insistence on practicing it incessantly led to the sacrament they now shared.) “Pull.” He attempts to pull his wrist away as she lightly holds the tail, tugging to make sure the knot doesn’t release or collapse. Happy with her work, she releases his wrist. She exchanges his hands and repeats the slow, deliberate process on his other wrist, the silky rope sliding and digging, building friction and releasing the heat, before she finishes the cuff with practiced tugs to ensure the knot’s stability.

Satisfied with both ties, she pulls his wrists together by their trailing tails, anchoring them in between their bodies with one hand. The other finds his cheek, tilting his head back to kiss him again, feeling him relax into her and follow as she cycles through deeper and lighter kisses; a small, needy whimper escapes his throat when they finally pull apart.

“Ready?” she asks quietly, pressing her palm into her navel as she reminds herself of how much sweeter those whimpers will be, and how much she will enjoy every minute of soothing them, once they’ve calmed the tumult caused by the last few weeks. It takes a moment for his eyes to meet hers, shining with the beginning of an elusive (or so he feared) altered state of consciousness. A smile dimples his cheeks and he nods; she kisses him one more time before standing, leading him by his tied wrists to their designated alcove.

Their toybag has already been delivered to their designated spot in the southwest corner in the small room. The play spaces against the wall, like this one, come with features the couple find particularly appealing, like independent lighting and audio; the most attractive component, however, was the privacy afforded by corner setting. Neither Kathryn or Chakotay mind having people watch what they do here—it would be hard to play like this if they did—but those walls allow them to shelter the more intimate moments from others. (It also lets them better monitor their audience and prevent interference. It had only happened once—someone reaching out to feel the ropes without permission—but neither particularly wanted to repeat the experience.)

Glancing a little above her, Kathryn notes the circle of metal that would suspend Chakotay, if they made it that far tonight. He stops just short of it, awaiting her next request. Keeping the tails of his wrist cuffs loosely in her hands, she steps away from him to study him as she composes their night in her mind.

Plans made, her body brushes against his as she returns to take her place perpendicular to his. Her hand glides across his shoulders and back to the nape of his neck. A light downward pressure there as she drops the rope from her hands, and Chakotay drops to his knees, eyes closed, swaying minutely before gaining his balance. Kathryn never understood how he could seem so heavy—almost drugged—and yet so graceful when he kneeled before her. She didn’t have to understand to be awash in pride, awe, and gratitude.

Kathryn grabs the toybag, moving it an arm’s length from where Chakotay landed. Crouching between him and the bag, she stuffs his shirt into the main pocket before fishing through the side pockets until she finds what she is looking for—the repurposed-sleep-mask blindfold.

Darkness, a barrier against distractions.

She slips it over Chakotay's head, adjusting it while whispering against his ear. "Until you're down, or up… hopefully both." He nods and she sees another layer of tension leave his shoulders.

The hum of people talking swells around her; her voice raises just loud enough to be heard over the crowd. "Computer, play Janeway zeta three." The sounds of thunderstorms swirl around them.

Time passes, unheeded, as Kathryn dances around him, murmuring, caressing, close but never close enough. She observes him carefully, attending his cues; her orchestration lulls Chakotay’s mind, freeing him as he pulls into and out of himself.  His shoulders sag as their burden lifts, signaling his surrender.

Kathryn moves quickly down and in front of him, so that his next breath is filled with her scent. Her lips find the tender spot where throat meets shoulder, laving attention on it as she pulls rope across and around his waist and hips. At his groan, she kisses upward until her lips find the shell of his ear. Her voice is throaty, her words heated against the sensitive flesh. "Mine." She sees him swallow repeatedly; all he does is nod.

Blue eyes narrow as Kathryn pulls the rope through her hands, arm lengths tallied in her head until she hits the spot she needs. Bending the rope, she wraps her arms around him, feeding rope around his body. Her hands and hair brush against him as she winds the rope and checks its placement; her lips press chaste kisses against scars and sensitive flesh alike as she moves around him. The friction of rope against the leather of his pants creates lines of warmth, giving him focal points in the kaleidoscope of Kathryn's movement. (They're never naked in public. The vulnerable intimacy of baring body _and_  soul stays between them, in the privacy of their home. Some things she refuses to share.)

The blindfold blocks Chakotay’s vision. The sounds of thunder and his own heartbeat fill his ears. Her rope constrains his wrists; he can’t touch her, deepening the craving to do just that.

Kathryn has masterfully reduced him to the barest and most primal of his senses and focused them all on her.

The sea of sensations she creates carries Chakotay further from coherence as hands and rope move from knee to shoulders and back again. Hot and cold. Rough and soft. Pushing and pulling. Rope is cinched together then pulled apart, etching a sensual geometry of diamonds and triangles and unknown polygons into his skin. Some of her rope is tight, digging in with unmistakable strength, holding him to her precise desires. Other is lighter, looser, barely grazing his body, building anticipation for her next move.

The rope around his hips and thighs pulls his back into a slight arch, preparing him to fly. Furrows mark his brow, stopping Kathryn from finishing the pull; some part of his mind remains a weighty albatross unwilling to take its leave.

She ties the line and stands up, moving to do what she has painstakingly avoided since he knelt before her just in case he needed an extra push to find oblivion.

Kathryn pulls his arms above his head before cradling the back of his head with one hand. She presses the leg closest to him along the outside of his thigh, her eyes fixed on his face. Her other foot slides across the floor until it rests against the opposite thigh, opening her hips squarely in front of Chakotay. She knows he will smell beyond her lilac soap and sweat, beyond her clothes, to the arousal soaking through her underwear and down her thighs.

His nostrils flare. Her hand guides his head around the rope between them until he is again pressing into her lower abdomen, this time inhaling the scent of Kathryn's arousal until she thinks his lungs will burst. That smell, _her smell_ , pushes him over the edge, thrusting him into an incomprehensible tangle of discontinuity and reconnection and ecstatic silence; it's a relationship she recognized long ago, but isn't sure if he does. Chakotay presses against the apex of her thighs, surging into the intimate connection found there as his anxious mind disengages at last. Kathryn groans as his lips and tongue seek between her thighs, parted just enough for his access. Even with the distraction of his mouth, it takes only a moment for her to secure his arms into a position to comfortably support his head.

Her hands return to tenderly cradle his head. Her voice, thick and heavy, murmurs around him, unintelligible nothings mixing with thunder and heartbeats, guiding him into the place where even she disappears, where there is only him enveloped in rope and nothingness and peace.

Eventually, inevitably, he stills against her, his forehead smooth, jaw lax and lips parted against her hand, his body heavy against her and the now-taunt ropes keeping him upright. She caresses his cheek once more before stepping away.

Chakotay shows no sign he is aware of the ropes as they begin to dig into his skin in earnest. Kathryn’s movements are steady and practiced, lifting his body into the air with a strength most don’t expect because of her diminutive size. Like a marionette, she tightens and loosens the ropes in practiced succession until his body is suspended parallel to the floor. Kathryn moves down his legs, removing his last connection to the ground when she ties his ankles in line with the rest of his body. She presses a kiss into his chest, over his heart, before standing again to make final adjustments to his position. She drifts to the edge of their space, admiring her work after tying off the last rope.

Her heart floats blissfully before her.

Shadows descend when Kathryn presses the console against the back wall, leaving just enough light to monitor Chakotay. She removes his blindfold. His face is serene for the first time in too long. The colors of the rope—midnight black and blood red—are indistinguishable against him in the darkness. The only discernible color is her blue rope twining around his hands and wrists, pressing the wrap she finished while he buried his face between her thighs into his palms.

Placing her fingers against him, featherlight, Kathryn traces the geometric designs adorning his chest, increasing the pressure as she moves across his abdomen so she doesn’t tickle him.

Her hands slide across the firm expanse from hip to hip, ensuring the ropes are secure but not too tight. She is acutely aware of how these ropes, along with ones across his chest and thighs, dig into his skin under the burden of his weigh, of how one mistake could cause irreparable harm. This should be easy after accepting responsibility for his safety during the harrowing experiences of the Delta quadrant. Yet Kathryn feels that weight as intensely now as she did then...maybe moreso, because he means more to her now than she ever allowed him to be on the ship.

She notices one of her decorative knots loosening as she caresses his body, but doesn’t correct it. Only the ropes suspending his body, expertly blended with the more artful patterns crisscrossing his body, need to be perfect. The imperfections—in him, in her, in the ornamental trappings of rope—are overlooked for these few precious moments as she allows them both to just be, together.

Fingers continue down one leg, checking the bindings as they go, until she wraps his foot in a steady, soothing massage. Chakotay’s breath hitches slightly as she applies firm pressure into the tensest area, and she feels the muscles relax with his audible exhale. Switching her attention to his other foot, Kathryn gives equal treatment to the stiffness there before gently tracing up his leg. Both hands meet on his back, her nails scraping lightly across the hypersensitive skin as whimper-moans drift from his throat.

Kneeling beside him brings her head slight above his; one hand winds into the hairs at the back of his head while the other outlines the dips and curves of his face. Her grip slowly tightens against his skull until the thick silk is fisted between her fingers. A low rumble escapes from the depths of his chest. She kisses him, tongue teasing his barely responsive lips before standing again.

Kathryn pulls him into an easy sway using his waistband. 

Keeping a careful eye on him, she crouches at the edge of their space, winding and packing unused rope. She motions to an attendant waiting along the wall when she’s done; they move with impressive grace and speed between small groups to return the toybag to their room. Once they're gone, her eyes scan the crowd until they land on the familiar face she’s seeking. Kathryn drags her hands up Chakotay’s arm and neck, stroking his jaw as she moves past him yet again. She feels his head twitch and his shoulders tighten, more on instinct than conscious thought, attempting to nuzzle into her hand; his desire can't overrule the heaviness of his current state, but she understands his intention, leaning down to brush a soft kiss against his cheek and murmur against his ear until he again relaxes in his rope cocoon.

Her fingers trail off him as she beckons her friend to the area. When they step into their corner, Kathryn whispers softly to them. “Thank you. I’ll only be a minute.”

She surveys Chakotay one more time, then slips along the path used by the earlier attendant to access the venue's private quarters. Their suite for the evening is only a few doors down, and she needs to set the room up before she brings Chakotay down.

It has taken time and significant trial and error to find their best aftercare routine for public play, especially at this facility. Each room in the venue has a slightly different set-up, and assignments are made as you check-in, not before. This combined with the tendency of their play to follow their moods instead of any particular plan made it difficult to make appropriate room adjustments before they played. Kathryn only attempted to leave him once after he was released from suspension; she had waited until he was more coherent and drinking water, but stopped cold at the panic in his eyes when she whispered to him that she would be back. Waiting until they were in the room to make the modifications often shook one or both of them from their headspace. Over time spent attending weekend ands classes here, they made friends they trusted and came up with this system, where the watchful eyes of another allows her to make necessary adjustments while he was unaware of anything but the ropes holding him.

Kathryn clears off unnecessary pillows and pulls back the comforter, her mind subconsciously calculating an appropriate temperature. Sometimes, he would drop fast and easy into a meditative state, with only the barest of support ropes necessary; other times, like tonight, it took time, patience, and a fair amount of rope for his mind to detach. He ran hot when he dropped quickly, so she would cool the room down so he didn’t overheat. Tonight, though, he'll be shivering cold by the time they make it to their room and she compensates by requesting a warmer temperature. She rifles through their overnight bag, brought to their room earlier by an attendant, until she finds the soft, well-worn blanket. The final touches are to darken the room as she clicks through available scent options. Her fingers tap across the screen, inputting concentration and circulation information with ease once she finds the one she is looking for.

Roses.

Returning to their quiet corner, she nods her thanks to their friend. They smile and accept her thanks with a quirk of their eyebrow, moving into the shadows but not out of the space; she never asks, but they always collect and coil the ropes she tosses aside as she brings Chakotay down.

The easy sway she started earlier is almost imperceptible now. Kathryn moves until her shadow eclipses his face, hand sliding down one of the ropes as she leans over him. Her fingertips journey up his body until they settle against his lower lip. The soft lilt of her voice, as textured and soft as her rope, mixes with the sounds of thunder and then rises above them, nudging around his edges and drawing him back into consciousness.

His eyes begin to flutter as she sequentially releases the ropes supporting his body, starting at his feet. Lowering his hips forces a groan. His muscles strain, heavy against his bones, the unique sensation seeping through his body as she loosens the ties holding him afloat. Chakotay remains firmly ensconced in most of his ropes; Kathryn only removes the ones holding his arms behind his head and any that may interfere with his walk to their room.

She guides his head to one more rest against her, connecting their bodies as his awareness returns. Kathryn’s voice, a comforting velvet of sound, surrounds him with assurance and love as he fights the weight of his euphoria. His eyes open, but close quickly against the abstraction of unfocused vision. Fingers clench and release, toes spread and ankles flex in a slow, deliberate perusal of his body. Knees bend, lips tighten with the effort to plant his feet on the ground. Chakotay shifts toward the heat of her body and she positions herself to be the first thing he'll see when his vision clears.

It takes a few more heavy blinks and deep breaths before her relaxed half smile comes into focus. His breath hitches as it does, earning him a slightly raised eyebrow in concern. A small shake of his head tells her he’s okay.

A shiver of goosebumps flashes down his arms; the warm blanket slides on top of him. “Let’s sit you up, Chakotay.” she prompts gently, slipping a hand between his shoulder blades. It isn’t as graceful as getting him down, especially since his wrists remain tied, but they work a little at a time until his back presses against her chest and the blanket envelopes them both in soft warmth. She mutters about leaving his chest line where it can help her next time and is rewarded with Chakotay’s low chuckle.

Another five minutes and half a bottle of water, his movements become more coordinated; he responds readily to her and does as she asks, but easily slips back into his trancelike state. Her hand anchors against his back as she stands, and then Kathryn helps him to his feet, steadying him as he adjusts to this new position. She secures a few loose rope ends away from his feet, tucks the blanket edges under rope to keep him covered, and gathers the last of their rope under her arm, leaving the space clear for the next tenants. Chakotay offers her the blue rope tail gathered into his cupped hands, and they escape through the crowds to their room.


End file.
